Old Habits
by TJ Dragonblade
Summary: Sai isn't who he used to be, but some things aren't easily unlearned.  YamaSai.  Post-war


I am fretting a great deal over Yamato's current predicament, and I think that's wielded a bit of an influence on this piece. ^_^;

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><p><em>Ta-dump. Ta-dump. Ta-dump.<em>

_One hundred forty-one. One hundred forty-two. One hundred forty-three._

Yamato's heartbeat is strong and steady, keeping counter-rhythm to the soft rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps.

Sai lies against him, counting those measured beats beneath his ear.

He's counting the different ways he knows to stop that heart, stop the breath in those lungs, at the same time.

They are numerous.

Most of them are very easy.

There are several he could carry out right now, from his current position, and he would barely have to move.

He can't help it. He doesn't want to think about these things, not really, but it's an ingrained part of who he used to be that remains a part of who he is now. Always he analyzes the vulnerabilities of those around him, always he calculates how best to make use of their weak points if needed.

It is impersonal, and utterly without animosity; it's simply how Root taught him to think.

His fingertips creep up the bare skin of Yamato's ribs, counting each one; he stops on the fifth. Just the right blend of pointed force and pressure applied quickly, _here_, and the rib would snap, would puncture the heart behind it.

Sai flattens his hand, moves it gently away, closes his eyes.

_Ta-dump. Ta-dump. Ta-dump._

_Two hundred thirty-three. Two hundred thirty-four. Two hundred thirty-five._

Yamato is snoring softly, above his head.

Sai's hand rests on the center of Yamato's chest, fingertips curled slightly into the wiry hair; he's well aware of how easily he could slide his tantou up beneath Yamato's sternum, could tear his lungs, pierce his heart.

Sai opens his eyes again. His hand moves on, cataloguing the positions of vital organs underneath the contoured muscle of Yamato's abdomen and mentally reviewing the ways that he can sever them, rupture them, fatally damage them.

Yamato twitches as Sai's fingertips graze over what he realizes belatedly is a ticklish spot, and Yamato's snores hitch briefly, then even out into soft breathing as he shifts without waking. His arm curls loosely around Sai's shoulders, lightly holding Sai against him, and he mumbles something unintelligible.

Sai is fairly certain it's not appropriate that even as he lets Yamato...cuddle him, this way, his mind is calculating the velocity and force the heel of his hand would need to apply beneath Yamato's chin to snap his neck from this angle.

He doesn't want to think about these things, not really. But he doesn't know how to train himself to stop.

_Ta-dump. Ta-dump. Ta-dump._

_Three hundred ninety-one. Three hundred ninety-two. Three hundred ninety-three._

Sai wonders if Yamato ever thinks like he does. Yamato has been ANBU, has been trained to kill efficiently in much the same way as Sai. It would make sense for him to think this way, and on one hand, Sai is reassured that Yamato would stand a good chance of stopping anyone who might attack him in his sleep. At the same time, he himself could easily kill Yamato right now, but Yamato is _cuddling_ him, is slumbering unconcerned with the danger he might present.

But he is not going to kill Yamato. He has the skill and means to do so, certainly, but neither reason nor desire to employ them.

He doesn't want to kill Yamato.

Which is not to say that he has particularly wanted to kill any of the targets that he has eliminated under orders; he has had no desire for either their lives or their deaths. Root taught him detachment, to obey without question, to have no thought for those he killed. He has merely assassinated as instructed.

In this case, however, that detachment is gone; he feels an active desire _not_ to kill Yamato. If someone were to instruct him to do so, he recognizes that he would have great difficulty in obeying.

He tells himself it's pointless to think about that possibility; no one has ordered him to kill Yamato and there is no one who is likely to do so anytime soon.

But the thought remains: _If I had to kill him, could I do it?_

He should be able to kill anyone he is ordered to kill, without regrets.

He is somewhat...envious, he thinks, that Yamato can sleep so easily, is not kept awake by thoughts such as these. ANBU is not Root, after all, and ANBU members are allowed - encouraged, even - to retain their humanity in a way that Root operatives were actively discouraged from doing.

_Ta-dump. Ta-dump. Ta-dump._

_Five hundred eighty-four. Five hundred eighty-five. Five hundred eighty-six._

The human heart is so fragile, Sai thinks. It takes so little to damage it beyond repair.

And yet, it is also so very strong, beating tirelessly on despite that fragility.

Metaphor holds that the heart is the seat of human emotion, he thinks then, and wonders if this is part of its weakness or its strength.

Emotions breed attachment.

Sai is more in touch with his emotions than he used to be, and he recognizes that he and Yamato have formed an attachment between them.

Attachment is a weakness; this is what Root has taught him, and he thinks it's not untrue. He should be sleeping now, not dwelling over how tenuous Yamato's life essentially is. He should be ready to take any mission given him at a moment's notice, should not be overly concerned with any missions that may or may not be assigned to his comrades; instead, he is thinking about the many dangers of a shinobi's life, about all the things that Yamato has survived already, and wondering if the next mission assigned to Yamato might prove to be his last.

He understands why Root sought to eliminate all attachment; the thought of losing Yamato is very distracting.

But Yamato welcomes the attachment between them, takes joy in it, is not...afraid, to acknowledge it, as Sai often is.

Sai has never thought of Yamato as weak.

He wonders how it is that one can embrace a weakness, as Yamato does, without becoming weak oneself, as Yamato is not.

It is a conundrum that he would very much like to understand.

Sai closes his eyes.

_Ta-dump. Ta-dump. Ta-dump._

_Six hundred sixty-six. Six hundred sixty-seven. Six hundred sixty-eight._

He opens them again.

He is weary of thinking on these things, and casts about for something else to occupy his mind as sleep continues to elude him.

He thinks of earlier in the night, of Yamato's weight close above him, bearing him down to the bed. He thinks of kissing Yamato, the way their mouths come together and their tongues move in concert; he thinks of the warm pressure of Yamato thrusting inside of him, the rippling movement of Yamato's back beneath his hands, the sweat-damp skin of Yamato's hips pressing against the insides of his thighs.

There is pleasure between them, in those moments, and something else that Sai doesn't know how to name; he sees it in Yamato's eyes, dark and fierce and gentle all at once, feels it in the surging warmth that swells in his chest when Yamato breathes his name out like a prayer, touches him like he's something infinitely precious.

He can't adequately name this bond between them, but he cannot deny or disregard its existence.

The thought surfaces again, how easy it would be to take Yamato's life.

Sai doesn't want to kill Yamato. He doesn't want anyone else to kill Yamato. He does not want Yamato to die by any means, because then he couldn't share Yamato's company anymore, couldn't watch him laugh anymore, couldn't lie here awake in his bed after having sex and count his heartbeats anymore.

Yamato is...precious to him.

The person he was trained to be doesn't really understand the idea, but he's growing beyond that person, and he is remembering what it is to know attachment to another.

He shifts his position, lifts his head, presses his lips in a careful kiss over Yamato's heart.

It's still beating, strong and steady.

_Ta-dump. Ta-dump. Ta-dump._

_Eight hundred fifty-eight. Eight hundred fifty-nine. Eight hundred sixty._

He lays his head back down.

"Mmh. Sai?" Yamato's sleepy voice rumbles in his chest, beneath Sai's ear, and it's a very...soothing sort of sound, Sai thinks. Yamato raises up on his elbow, carefully dislodging Sai, and looks down at him with sleep-fogged eyes. "Is anything wrong?"

Sai is fairly certain that discussing what he's been thinking about will only cause Yamato discomfort and undue concern.

"No. Nothing," he says instead, gazing up at Yamato in the darkness, then reaching to touch his face with careful, gentle fingers. He traces the curve of Yamato's cheek lightly; he recognizes fleeting thoughts about pressure to eye sockets and their proximity to the brain, but those thoughts are haphazard, incomplete, and Sai thinks that relief is the proper word for what he feels then.

"Mmh." The corner of Yamato's mouth turns up in a fond, drowsy smile. "Go to sleep," he murmurs, and dips his head to kiss Sai briefly.

His mouth is warm, and soft, and Sai closes his eyes, curls his fingers gently into the coarse texture of the hair behind Yamato's ear. This, this is all he wants to think about.

He blinks, languidly, when Yamato lifts away; tastes the lingering warmth on his lips as Yamato settles back into the pillow beside him.

He lays his head over Yamato's heart again, and closes his eyes.

_Ta-dump. Ta-dump. Ta-dump._

_Nine hundred thirty-nine. Nine hundred forty. Nine hundred forty-one._

Sleep takes him at last before the count reaches one thousand.

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>Originally Posted: 53/11


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